Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.

Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.

I felt dumb and subdued. Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind glided off, like a skater, into a large empty space, and pirouetted there, absently.

There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone.

We should meet in another life, we should meet in air, me and you.

You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.

And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.